As the old lady spoke it would be difficult to conjecture which was the predominant sentiment of her mind--sorrow, because of the untimely death of Dr. Dalton; or a certain feeling of triumph, because her predictions had proven correct. Aunt Debie always claimed credit for her prophetic powers if any person happened to die of whom she had dreamt; and if they did not, she asked her auditors just to wait and time would vindicate her. Of course the old lady was correct in that, for, if they waited for a sufficient length of time all would die." "Thee told it as straight as could be," said Phoebe. "I was sartin it would come troo, for I never knew thee to fail. But what a blessing it was that his mother died before this terrible deed was committed." Genuine tears shone in the eyes of Phoebe as she thus spoke. "Yes," said Aunt Debie, "God is sometimes like Jacob when he blessed Joseph's children with crossed hands. We say, at some visitation of His providence, that seems hard to us, 'Not so, father;' but He knows where He is placing His hands. It was in mercy that He took Rebecca that she might not have to bear still greater sorrows. She is better where she is, and I shall soon be with her; then these eyes shall no longer be sightless, but shall be brighter than in youth. O! I long to be where I shall see the King in His beauty, and the glory and loveliness of the Father's home; where, these deaf ears being unsealed, I shall hear the rapturous music of those who surround the throne and swell the rapturous songs of the redeemed." Aunt Debie's wish has since been granted, and she has gone to meet the friends of her youth in the land where they will part no more. CHAPTER XL. CONCLUSION. Six years have passed since the events narrated in the last chapter transpired. Judge McGullet, Sheriff Bottlesby and Old Joe Porter, have in the interval been summoned to attend the last assize. The latter died of delirium tremens, and it was whispered around that his family were afraid to bring a physician, because he raved so of the treacherous slaying of Richard Ashton. The judge was said to have died of brain fever, and the sheriff of inflammation; yet it is an open secret that drink was the real agent in their destruction. Rivers, Ben Tims, and the others whom we have mentioned, are still plying their nefarious trade, which will in all probability ultimately involve themselves and their unfortunate customers in a common ruin.